Moi Moi
by ardavenport
Summary: Pensive, topless Qui-Gon. With Jar-Jar. Read if you dare.


**Moi Moi**

by ardavenport

_There is something about that boy..._

Qui-Gon Jinn sat alone, cross-legged on the sand behind the Skywalkers' humble slave dwelling. It was very late into the night. Everyone else had retired. There was only a single, half-power light on near the back entrance.

Qui-Gon sensed it in the Force. Something...coming. Was this Obi-Wan's earlier foreboding? He sighed and lowered his head. He'd been meditating on it for some time, but Obi-Wan's elusive feeling was still...elusive. Yet it was undeniably something. He knew that now, but Jedi Master though he was, his powers had always been strongest in the moment, connecting him to all the life around him through the Living Force. His apprentice's sense of future disturbances was stronger than his, though no more specific or useful. The mazes of possibilities remained shadowed, out of the reach of his thoughts. He'd never cared for such wanderings...futile grasping for guidance. But the images that came to him through the Force always seemed to be of the boy, Anakin Skywalker, now tucked into bed by his mother to get up early for the pod races the next day.

He dropped his shoulders. It was late enough to already be the next day. He needed to get a few hours of rest, but they would be uneasy. Anakin...he sensed the Force in the slave boy. He sensed it strongly in him though he had no training at all, and his midiclorine count was so fantastically high. Qui-Gon Jinn knew he was meant to be here, meant to find him.

'He was meant to help you,' his mother had said.

It wasn't just for their current mission. It was more...much, much more, but his own Jedi powers could do little more than sense something...something large and looming in the murky future. Was it a warning? A fortelling? He sensed a need for action. Or a need for caution. Or he could just be mistaking his Padawan's misgivings for his own. He shook his head. There was no point in continuing. His thoughts had become too cluttered. He would need to clear his mind anew and try again later.

Qui-Gon rose and turned to his clothes, draped on the low wall behind the slave quarters. There was no water for washing or hygiene on a desert world like Tatooine. As a result, everything smelled of the dusty sweat and refuse from dozens of different species. Qui-Gon hadn't thought he reeked any more than the next person, so he'd initially declined Shmi's first offer of freshening powder from the family's meager supplies. But she'd insisted.

_When someone offers you a bath, there's probably a reason._

He adjusted the borrowed cloth wrapped and securely tied about his middle. It easily covered him down past the knees though he was bare chested in the warm air. He'd used the powder sparingly on his tunics and pants and other things. And a little bit under his arms. There had been plenty of time for it to do it's work. He picked up each item and shook it out, dislodging the bacterial dust that ate the unpleasantnesses in the microscopic world before drying up and becoming real dust. He sniffed his obi and the underarms of his under-tunic. The musty smell was gone, replaced by a faint plant-like aroma. It would do.

He heard footsteps.

"Mmmmm. Mmm," a high pitched voice 'mmm'ed to itself. One of his traveling companions from Naboo, Jar-Jar Binks, was still up. He appeared in the back doorway, his lanky frame silhouetted in the light from inside. He spotted the Jedi by the wall.

Jar-Jar straightened. He canted his head forward, his yellow eyes blinking, catching the gleam of the single light from inside, seeming to rise up a bit more over the Gungan's wide, flat head.

"Ooooooh, moi, moi. You'zun **big-un** bruiser, Master Jedi, Sir." The tip of Jar-Jar's long tongue ran along his lower and then upper lips with a loud smacking noise.

Qui-Gon tilted his head, curious. _Now what did that mean?_

Jar-Jar sauntered up to him with his peculiar, rolling gait. He looked closely at Qui-Gon, his whole head pointing from foot to head. Then he leaned to either side, eyeing Qui-Gon's shoulders, his bare pectoral muscles.

"Wez'un got'n some hours before we'za risin'. Meza thinkin' we'za--" Jar-Jar's slender fingers brushed Qui-Gon's firm stomach on their way downward.

Qui-Gon's hand, faster than the Gungan's tongue, suddenly shot out and clamped tight around Jar-Jar's skinny neck, cutting off most of his air. Jar-Jar's huge eyes bulged in the gloom, the end of his tongue flopping out of his mouth. His whole body squirmed, his hands clutching at the immobile arm that now held him away from the Jedi.

"Aaaa–aakk-awwk!" Jar-Jar gagged.

The Jedi narrowed his own, much smaller blue eyes at the Gungan.

"You do realize, Jar-Jar," he instructed to his quite captive audience. "That Jedi do not partake of any...frivolous indulgences?" Jar-Jar continued to struggle until he succumbed to that undeniable stare. He hung still in Qui-Gon's grasp, his hands still uselessly clutching Qui-Gon's wrist. Jar-Jar finally nodded.

"Now," Qui-Gon proceeded carefully, his voice low, but conversationally pleasant. "I am not offended by your offer, Jar-Jar. I am sure that it was...sincere." Qui-Gon wasn't in the least bit offended when any being found him attractive. But experience had taught him that it was best to immediately, firmly and forcefully (if necessary) cut down any unwanted physical advances, especially for anyone as self-important and stupid as Jar-Jar. "But I must be clear about this, that our friendship does not extend that far. Or in that way." Jar-Jar inarticulately gurgled back.

"Do we understand each other?" He waited for Jar-Jar's contrite nod before releasing his grip.

Jar-Jar shook his head with a slubbery noise while Qui-Gon silently gathered up his clothes, nodded to the Gungan and went to the door back into the slave quarters. Then he stopped and turned.

"And Jar-Jar..." Qui-Gon waited until Jar-Jar had turned and acknowledged him with a respectful "Humm?"

"Put your tongue back in."

**— END —**

(This story first posted as a separate story on tf.n: 14-May-2006)

**Disclaimer:** All characters and situations belong to George and Lucasfilm; I'm just playing in their sandbox.


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